Come Undone
by EverlongBloom
Summary: She gave all she was in her pursuit to end the plight of mages, and within the walls of the inquisition she would come undone. Exploration and in-depth character development of a rebellious Trevelyan (mage) inquisitor and her feelings regarding companions and conflicts in the inquisition. Following the arc of the game, but not always canon. Slow burn. Eventual Trevelyan/Solas
1. Chapter 1: Flirting With Danger

Soon to be an epic multichapter fic of Inquisitor Trevelyan (mage) with all the depth and personal character development that I felt was lacking in the game. Eventual Trevelyan/Solas. Not always canon compliant.

 **Chapter One: Flirting With Danger**

"You fell out of a rift and our soldiers found you. They say they saw a woman in the rift behind you, but no one knows who she was."

Cassandra's words echoed across the chasm as they approached the remains of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Sorschia Trevelyan stood mute and immobile, overwhelmed by what she was hearing as a frigid wind pelted her face and body. Her eyes widened as she witnessed the horrific sight before them.

The crater was still smoldering, littered with the remains of mages and templars, bodies frozen in grotesque postures of abject agony. Her stomach lurched as the smell of burning flesh racked her senses.

Sorschia's mind was reeling as they descended deeper into the carnage, the reverberating hum of residual magical energy rung in her ears. The thrumming ache in her hand was growing stronger and she looked up, vertigo shocking her senses as the dizzying display of brilliant green light throbbed menacingly above her.

This is where they had found her, in this lifeless ashen landscape, with no wound except a magical mark upon her hand. She had fallen from the fade itself, and had been in a fevered sleep for days.

She looked down, wincing at the throb in her arm. The mark paced itself in rhythm to the enormous green fissure. The rifts occasional bursts energy washed over her and left her shivering from head to toe.

Sorschia turned to take in the sight of blackened structural remains, once the fortified stone walls of the ancient temple. She recalled her excitement at being a part of the mage delegate to meet with the chantry, and with Divine Justinia, in person.

Sorschia Trevelyan had spent her young adult life dreaming of that moment; a chance for the mages of the south to declare their right to freedom to the chantry and the Divine herself. She had prepared quickly when she'd heard the news, eager to watch the deliberations and support her fellow mages during this historic moment. She was apprehensive but secretly hopeful for a potential future free from a chantry leash. She knew her fellow mages could prove they deserved that freedom, and would earn that freedom, no matter what obstacles lay before them. They were determined to be recognized, to be represented and treated as equals. This was their shining moment.

... She could have never imagined it would have ended like this.

Both sides were devastated by an as-of-yet inexplicable cataclysmic event. No matter what the outcome after they dealt with the breach, Sorschia knew that the world would be reeling from the Divine's untimely death for years to come.

The mage's plight would only get worse.

Her chest ached for her comrades; those she lost in the blast were some of her closest friends to whom she had confided so much, the few in all Thedas she could trust. To think that others, most likely mages, may have combined their efforts to do something like this; a blood magic ritual _massacre_ of sky-tearing proportions ...

 _And what was my role in this?_

She scowled bitterly, flexing and clenching her now-luminous hand. The mark was far from understated. The connection she felt to the magic here was undeniable. What exactly had she done or been forced to do?

The guilt and fear clawed at her insides. Her memory was full of holes, only a buzzing blur of ... _something_ echoed in her mind, shreds of memories snapping back to the surface, only to dissipate and leave her dazed by foggy glimpses of noise and fear.

A being of light. Reaching for her. Grasping her hand. Had she imagined that?

It wasn't as if she'd never met a spirit before. In fact it was quite the hobby for her back at Ostwick, but the thought of meeting one while being _physically_ within the fade itself felt ... completely alien to her. The thought was beyond description. No mage had _ever_ , at least according to the Chantry's historians, entered the fade since the dastardly magisters of old, who had spoiled the seat of the Maker and brought the blight. She'd only thought it a fairy tale to scare young mages into fearing their power ... but if she really had emerged from the fade what did it mean for her?

... Or better yet, what did that mean for the fade?

 _Maker,_ she groaned internally. And here she was, miraculously living and breathing, while every living thing within a hundred meters of where she stood had died around her. It started to make sense why everyone was in complete awe of her.

Sorschia had always possessed a natural charisma that had gotten her into the right circles, as was expected of her noble lineage. She had also garnered a healthy level of respect and awe from her peers for her denouncement of said noble lineage to fully commit to the mage rebellion ... but this was different. It was as if she were something ephemeral, ghostly, and if they were to take their eyes off her she might spirit herself back to the fade at any moment.

Their eyes were always trained on her. Especially, she noticed, the elven apostate.

Solas, as the mage called himself, had kept a keen eye on her ever since their formal introductions. For a hedge mage offering their services to glorified templars he was awfully well informed ... there was clearly much more to him than he was letting on to Cassandra and the others.

Sorschia knew a liar when she saw one.

His often excessive amicability and flattery were dead giveaways. Of course it was only natural to become a good liar as a mage, and most definitely living as an apostate, but there seemed to be an unfathomable depth to his character that she couldn't place. She'd met many hedge mages in her time serving the mage rebellion, and none had offered as much arcane knowledge as Solas was now sharing with the seeker and herself. She'd assumed his cooperation was a ruse, and Cassandra had most likely had him in chains just like herself, strong arming him into to keeping Sorschia alive with his hedge magic ... a pilgrim turned prisoner. Varric had at least been straightforward about his displeasure in their situation.

And when Solas had grabbed her hand and held it to the rift, an immense electrical shock had gone through Sorschia. It was almost as if he'd channeled his energies through her body, helping her use this mark to mend the weave of the fade. She had been dumbfounded after it. No mage had ever combined their energies with her in that way, it was too intimate to describe. Despite her distrust of him, she couldn't help respecting his power.

He had locked eyes with her then, and afterwards she had felt a little awkward around him, though she had masked it well.

Sorschia mentally steeled herself. She knew with near certainty that no mage in their right mind would willingly sign up to help in a situation like this unless they had motivations of their own, no matter how much arcane knowledge lay at their disposal, no matter how noble or foolish.

She'd make sure to be wary of this one until she could learn more of his true intentions, though the rapid beating in her heart told her she'd be finding a way to engage with him more in the future, if there in fact _was_ a future.

She'd always loved flirting with danger. But since when _haven't_ mages been flirting with danger. It was the nature of being a mage.

As she came closer to the origin of the fade rift she heard it; the voice of a woman crying out, begging for help.

Sorschia whipped around, frantically looking for any signs of life only to wince in pain as a wave of magical energy erupted from the fade, pulling at her mark and dragging her forward. Her body was pulled towards a reflection high above her, watching herself rushing in a panic to aid a bound and pleading Divine Justinia.

Quickly she realized this wasn't a trick of the light. These were memories, a reflection of the past, burned into the very fabric of the ether and tethered to the tear in the fade.

"You _were_ there! Who attacked? And the divine, is she ...?"

Suddenly a swell of emotions overcame Cassandra as she grabbed Sorschia by the shoulders, shaking her with urgency and desperation hitching her voice.

"Is this vision true!? What are we seeing?"

Even if she _did_ know what happened, Sorschia wasn't sure if she'd dare to share it with Cassandra, as meaningful as her plea was. Even proven innocent, they would find some way to put her in chains again. They always do.

"I don't remember," she responded meekly, feigning empathy. She had hoped Cassandras grip would relent, but she held fast to the mage as Solas stepped forward, his eyes never leaving the breach.

"Echoes of what happened here. The fade bleeds into this place."

He approached them and Cassandra stepped away, releasing Sorschia from the sting of her iron gauntlets. She slouched in relief, rubbing at her aching shoulders, then quickly stilled her movements as Solas spoke again, his words spoken more to himself than to her or Cassandra.

"This rift is not sealed, but it is closed, albeit temporarily."

That was when his eyes fixed on her, boring into to her soul as he finally acknowledged her presence, her mark trembled anxiously as he spoke.

"I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side."

"That means demons!" Cassandra bellowed at the troops waiting above them. "Stand ready!"

With haste the troops and officers clamored out of the charred stonework and surrounded them, bowmen and scouts positioning themselves on high ledges with arrows nocked into place. All at once, her companions, Varric, Solas and Cassandra, encircled Sorschia, readying themselves for the onslaught.

Then suddenly all eyes were upon her. Cassandra gave her a meaningful nod as they waited, expecting her to do her best to reach out and expunge this dangerous magical vortex from spreading further and becoming an even greater danger.

She hesited. She should be doing this for her fellow mages, for the safety of Thedas, and still she hesitated. This was surely suicide, but inevitably being met with a flurry of cold blades and arrows at her back didn't seem to be an appealing alternative, or adversely an equally good motivator.

With a pointed, dangerous look at Solas, she readied herself for what was to come. She spoke to him with her eyes, an expression of distrust etched into her features.

 _You better not make be regret trusting you._


	2. Chapter 2: Her Own Plans

**Chapter 02: Her Own Plans**

* * *

"There she is, the Herald of Andraste."

The men before her fell on one knee, their heads bowed low. Others followed their example, showing their respect and admiration as she passed. They seemed to lean into her path, possibly hoping for a chance to be brushed by her glowing fingers.

One of the women were so bold as to take her hand and kiss her knuckles. Sorschia was repulsed and wrenched her hands away.

"Don't disturb the herald," one woman chided. "We wouldn't be standing here if it wasn't for her."

"That's right," another added from somewhere beside her. "Andraste brought her to us from the fade."

Sorschia sneered but said nothing, knowing that it was unwise to argue with a fervent crowd. Instead she made a quick escape, pulling her heavy hood over her face as snow began to settle on her shoulders.

She made a beeline for the chantry, hoping to find a moment of peace to herself, but Cassandra was waiting for her just beyond the wooden doors. Sorschia had almost feared she would be put in chains again, but instead Cassandra took her arm like a doting matron and led her to a room at the back of the chantry.

Sorschia felt naked without her mage's staff, but she could still throw fire if she had to. She hoped it would not come to that.

#+++

The stars were out by the time Sorschia left the chantry in a daze several hours later. She soon found herself back in the modest hut where she had awoken, staring hard into a well tended fire as she sat hunched on the bed, trying to come to grips with everything that had happened.

Despite her misgivings, despite her fear, and despite every rational _bone in her body_ , she had ended up agreeing to be a part of this - what did Cassandra call it? Inquisition. The name had a menacing ring to it.

Admittedly, she didn't have much choice in the matter; they didn't really seem to _allow_ her the privilege to decline. Clearly she was still on a trial basis with the seeker.

If they had only asked her, she would have informed them that she was already a part of something, and it certainly didn't have anything to do with snuffing out terrorists on a morally ambiguous, religious crusade for Justinia loyalists; Sorschia grimaced at the notion.

Of course she wouldn't have dared speak of the mage underground to such unfamiliar company, but she could have found some way around it ... if they had cared to ask if she had a life of her own.

Though many of her companions were lost at the Divine's Conclave, she knew they would never want her sullying their memory with a petty political witch hunt, not when the fate of mages had taken such an ugly turn. She had to at least send word to them, but she dare not use any of the messengers at Haven. Who knows _who_ might be watching.

Surely Cassandra and Leliana were more than capable of taking care of this breach business without Sorschia; despite their own rebellion against the chantry bureaucracy, she had no doubt they could pull together their remaining resources and flush out the culprits ... most likely threatening a lot of mages on the way.

... There was just the problem with Sorschia's glowing, rift-closing hand.

She examined it in the firelight, watching the delicate tendrils of magic undulate beneath her skin.

She had never seen anything like it; it was almost beautiful, if it wasn't a powerful and potentially dangerous concentration of unknown magic fixed inside her right hand. The thought put a new crease to her already furrowed brow.

Sorschia sat up, listening and alert as she heard a loud _thunk_.

Someone placing what sounded like chopped wood beside her hut. She expected a knock, but instead the servant left her in peace, their soft footfalls becoming distant once more.

The small interruption had roused her from her thoughts; she felt as if a bucket of ice water had just been poured on her head. The fear took hold and she tensed, nervously surveying the room.

She had to get out. She was a mage trapped in a camp full of templars, and infected with an unknown magical artifact. She was going to be used as a tool for political gain, a convenient rift-closing puppet; a means for leverage, favors and alliances, and would undoubtedly be made into a weapon ... A weapon made to capture and kill the mages responsible.

Sorschia jumped to her feet, the adrenaline of her revelation rushing through her veins like lyrium, heightening her senses and causing her hands to shake.

There in a corner, leaning on the wall was a staff. The staff she'd taken off a fallen mage near the conclave. She had what she needed.

#+++

Within only a few minutes, she had quietly exited the hut, her staff tied securely to her back and a rucksack full of rations over her shoulder. She had taken the warmest jacket she could find, lined with soft red lion fur.

The camp was quiet as she slipped through the shadows, pulling her hood over her thick sanguine locks; it seemed most of Haven's residents were at the tavern, reveling in her small victory.

When she approached the gates, leaning against the wood posts to hide her form, she noticed that the guards on duty had momentarily left their posts to share a drink with the nearby arms dealer, leaving the gates slightly ajar, no doubt for the blacksmith sharing in their toast. She wasted no time as she slipped through the gates and out into the night.

#+++

The chill wind bit at her hands and face as she turned down the eastern road, braving the harsh mountain gale that Haven's high walls had blocked.

Sorschia was gifted with a good visual memory, and had recalled _exactly_ the route she had taken with her retinue through the mountains when she had arrived at Haven. This would be the quickest road to a nearby village, and from there she could safely send word to her friends. They would find a way to undo this magic, hopefully while leaving her hand intact. If the inquisition came knocking, she'd use it as a bargaining chip. They weren't the only ones with big plans.

Suddenly she heard Haven's large, wooden gates open with a groan.

She was being followed.

Sorschia could see a nearby abandoned cabin a short distance ahead of her. The hut was nearly obscured by a patch of blue spruces. Even if she didn't make it inside in time, she could still hide among the trees.

Sorschia darted forward, heart racing in her chest, thanking the Maker for the wind whipping behind her, erasing her tracks and pushing her onward. Desperately she flung herself into the door, fumbling for the knob as the cold mountain wind pressed against her. The door burst open and she rushed inside, deftly closing it behind her with a flourish, leaving her in darkness.

She found a nearby window and wiped a small portion of dust from the glass; she watched and waited for her pursuer, but no one came. Several minutes passed, and still nothing stirred except the wind violently rattling the windows, and whistling through the walls.

Several more minutes passed and her shoulders eased. It was most likely the Smith returning to his cabin after a long night of drinking. Sorschia sighed with relief and leaned against the window frame. Her fear was getting the better of her; she had lived through the blast at Haven for Maker's sake, and knew herself to be a more than capable mage in combat. Unless Seeker Cassandra had intended to find her herself, Sorschia knew that she was more than a match for almost anyone.

A branch snapped just outside the door and she froze.

A rustle of fabric, feather soft, nearly lost within the howls of swirling wind. A hand was at the door, slowly turning the knob as she paled. She knew she should have barred the door.

Then everything happened at once. The door opened, and Sorschia phased through it, rushing past the intruder with inhuman speed to a break in the trees. She had nearly manifested at her destination when a hand reached through, gripping her mid-sprint with biting claws. She cried out in alarm but her voice was lost between the folds of the fade as the hand dug into her mark, and with incredible pressure the hand pulled, wrenching her back from the ether, sending her sprawling onto the dirt-coated floor with a groan.

Sorschia's vision blurred, her body having trouble keeping up as she tried to recover from the blow. Before she could sit up, a slender figure crouched over her, leaning against a simple wooden staff. As her eyes regained focus, she noticed the soft glint of starlight on pointed ears.

"Solas," she croaked, sounding much worse than she had hoped to, her head still swimming. "What are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the same question," Solas quipped. She noticed a hint of a smile on his lips. He was leaning over her slightly, looking mildly amused as she lay like a ragdoll beneath him.

A surge of anger and embarrassment swelled inside her but she could only sit up weakly on her elbows; the force of his grip on her in the fade had left her mana totally spent, and a throbbing was forming between her temples. All she could do was glower at him.

"Nice trick," Sorschia mumbled with a sneer, taking a moment to flex her hand. The elf only chuckled.

"I think you overestimate your stealth, with a mark such as that on your hand."

She balked. She hadn't even thought of that.

Sorschia had always been very good at hiding her presence when she chose to. The idea that she was now branded with a unknown magic that she can't even _hide_ bothered her immensely. _Sweet Andraste, how embarassing._

There was an uncomfortable silence as Sorschia tried to regain her bearings, finding it hard to form a proper sentence. Solas waited patiently _._

"What would you have done in my situation?" she asked, watching him with intense green eyes.

Her anger stilled as she watched him in the darkness, the snow cast an eerie pale glow upon the elf, his eyes studying her for a moment.

"The very same thing," he offered finally, amusement replaced with a genuine look of empathy. He offered a hand to her and quickly pulled Sorschia to her feet.


	3. Chapter 3: Pride

CHAPTER 03 - PRIDE

* * *

"Sorschia, is that really you?"

"Josephine?! " Sorschia's mouth was agape, momentarily speechless as the two childhood friends approached one another. "You grew up so fast!"

"You too!" Josie beamed. She reached out and clasped hands with Sorschia. "You're _so_ tall! How long has it been? Eight years?!"

"Nine!" Sorchia corrected, a brilliant smile replacing her look of surprise as she squeezed Josie's hands. They were lost in the moment until a distinct throat clearing broke their reverie.

"You two know each other?" Cassandra asked brusquely, a look of genuine bewilderment on her normally hardened face. Leliana and Cullen exchanged each other looks.

 _Josephine gave a nervous chuckle and broke away from Sorchia's embrace, her bronzed cheeks blushing_. "Ah-well, our parents were well acquainted. We-"

"We spent a few summers together as kids," the herald finished for her, _noticing Josie's embarrassment_ as the former casually returned to her place at the war table beside Cassandra. Sorschia's mouth had tilted into a smirk. "We got into all sorts of trouble."

"P-Please, don't give any details," Josephine pleaded, waving her arms in surrender to the unspoken threat. Everyone at the table gave the two speculative glances, most notably Leliana.

Josephine hastily grabbed the parchment and quill that she had set aside in a flurry to welcome the herald. She promptly got back to business. " A great pleasure to see you again Sorschi-I mean ... your Worship." Josephine added softly as she gave a curtsy with a smile.

"Likewise." Sorschia grinned and gave a polite nod. Perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea to stay after all, she mused.

* * *

Since returning to Haven that night with Solas, Sorschia had taken a keen interest in learning everything she could about her new companions. It had turned out that both Cassandra and Leliana were genuinely sympathetic to the mage cause, as was the late Divine Justinia. She had taken the time to read the Divine's directive and was impressed with her ideas. Few members of the chantry would dare to be so radical, but she supposed this is why it was a top secret operation until recently.

Sorschia had scoffed before when Cassandra spoke of divine providence after they had closed the breach, but perhaps there was a bit of truth to it after all. She was now at the wheel of a controversial and soon-to-be powerful organization full of like-minded people who wanted to change the world, even if they had to shake the very foundations of the chantry to do it. It was not unlike what she had been attempting with the mage underground, but the inquisition had a far greater reach, and now, thanks to Josie, far better diplomacy.

The night that Solas discovered Sorschia in the cabin, he had confessed his plans to her; he was also contemplating fleeing Haven that evening, but had caught sight of her mark in the dark when she left through the gate and so he had followed. As they had sat around a fire and talked long into the night, the two mages had reasoned that regardless of what the inquisition might become in the weeks to follow, for now they were safe in the good graces of the founding members. It would be wiser to stay within the inquisition than to risk being hunted down by it, especially now that word was spreading that Sorschia had been proclaimed Herald of Andraste. The fact that people thought of her as a religious figure was unsettling to say the least, but in her haste to escape she had failed to consider the consequences of leaving the inquisition to its own devices.

Solas had suggested that they watch out for each other while they find their place in the organization. Despite her reservations regarding the apostate, she had readily agreed to the offer. She needed an ally, now more than ever, and she would not turn aside his help, not when their cooperation could help stave off execution, or even worse, tranquility.

"You may come in."

Sorschia quickly lost track of her thoughts as Josephine's door swung wide open. The meeting with Cassandra had been a long one and she'd be damned if she was going to be kept from Josephine another moment longer. She let herself in.

"Josie," Sorschia drawled, strutting into Josie's new office and stopped before her desk as Josephine suddenly shot up out of her seat, her face a bright scarlet as she gave Sorschia a modest smile.

"H-Herald," she stammered, then made a pointed glance to Minaeve and her helpers who were deeply engrossed in a conversation discussing the properties of spider venom.

"Leave us," the Herald ordered in a deep authoritative tone, and much to her delight, the group gave polite nods and quickly left the room, closing the door behind them.

Josephine stifled a giggle as Sorschia turned to her with a grin. " I had no idea that would work," she offered, looking pleased with herself.

"Its because you're the herald," Josephine explained as she bustled over to Sorschia and gripped her by the arms. "It's so good to see you. Who knew that our paths would cross in this way! It was -"

"Divine providence?" Sorchia interjected with a snigger. "It certainly is a welcome sight, to be sure. You're here for the long haul, right? I'm not going to turn around and find out you've run off to Orlais again, am I?" Sorschia mocked , though her smile softened. She reached up to tuck a stray lock of Josie's hair.

"Of course not, I'm here for as long as the inquisition would have me," Josie offered, brushing another stray lock back into place as she stared up at Sorschia earnestly. "Sorschia, I -"

"Josephine? Pardon the interruption."

The Inquisitions spymaster had let herself into Josie's office and the two friends had broken away. "You're not interrupting," the herald said stiffly.

"Cassandra would like to speak with you over the details on the Hinterlands mission, Herald. You must leave at once - the warring mages and templars of the area have been harming many innocent refugees in the crossfire. The situation has become desperate."

"I'll leave right away," Sorschia Trevelyan said with conviction, then turned to give Josie's arm a gentle squeeze. "Catch up with you later, Josie."

Sorschia couldn't help but notice Leliana's face harden as she walked past the spymaster and into the war room.

* * *

"You're unusually cheerful this morning," Solas commented as he reached out a hand to help the Inquisitor up onto a rocky outcrop overlooking the crossroads, where they had met with Mother Giselle only hours ago. The steep incline had them all huffing and struggling as they approached the ruins of an old fort.

"Is it catching?" Sorschia huffed with a smile, eyes sparkling as she took his hand and hoisted herself up beside him.

"Nope. Just you," Varric grumbled, seating himself nearby on a patch of boulders as he took a moment to rub the soles of his feet. "Keep this up, Inquisitor, and I'll be calling you Chuckles the Second."

"How appropriate," Sorschia responded with a sly smile, her sardonic nature getting the better of her. "Should I be grateful or insulted?"

"Any nickname from me is a good sign," Varric explained as he picked a few rocks from his boots "Its the people I don't nickname that you should be worried about."

"What about Cassandra?" The herald asked pointedly as she watched the Seeker flinch. "You just call her 'Seeker'."

"I do not _want_ or _need_ a nickname," Cassandra grumbled a bit too stiffly as she took the small respite to clean bits of blood and bone from her shield. "'Seeker' is a fine a title as any."

"Oh, don't you worry , Seeker. I have plenty of nicknames for _you_ ," Varric quipped in that very _Varric_ way of his. Sorschia couldn't help but smile as she watched the gears slowly turn in the woman's head, but she became distracted as she noticed Solas' stare. That's when she realized she hadn't let go of his hand this whole time.

"Oh, oops," Sorschia said quietly as she clumsily pulled her hand from his, finding it hard to hide the glowing blush no doubt luminating her face. It seemed her mark also brightened as she watched Solas chuckle softly.

"No harm done," he said reassuringly, giving her a pleasant smile, though a quiet intensity remained in his storm grey eyes. She realized he had been taking the opportunity to examine her mark.

"Well, we're nearly there," Varric interjected, gesturing over to the fort not more than 20 meters away. "We may as well pay these cultists a visit. Who knows, they might have food."

"Or a wash basin," Cassandra muttered bitterly after flicking a bit of gore out of her hair.

"Or a stiff drink," Varric added, then gave Sorschia a lazy smile as he waggled his fingers. 'Just go in there, show them how important you are, make your hand glow, maybe rough up some demons, sacrifice a few virgins and I'm sure you'll win them over."

"Are you always this reassuring?" Lady Trevelyan asked with genuine interest, using her staff as a walking stick as her and her companions made their way up the path.

"Comes with the territory of being a younger brother," he explained with a nod as they realized someone was at the gate waiting for them.

* * *

"It looks like you had to do everything in order to get them on our side," Varric said with amusement, idly cleaning Bianca as he sat cross-legged by the fireplace.

"Except sacrifice virgins," Solas quipped with a smirk, leaning against the stone wall as he wistfully watched the last light of day fade out through their drafty window. Cassandra had left them all too eagerly on her quest to find a wash basin.

"Thank the maker for that," Sorschia said with relief, tossing her auburn tresses over her shoulder as she seated herself wearily on a heavy wooden desk. "It will be nice to know that all these people will be able to aid the refugees now, instead of holing themselves up here waiting for the world to end."

"Yeah. Could have given us better room and board though, considering you're holy and all that," Varric said with a snort as he dusted the random bits of rubble and debris from his trousers. "For a cult obsessed with the favor of the Maker, they're doing a piss-poor job so far. And the ale here is worse than the nug shit at Darktown."

"We needed room and board, and this was the best they could provide," Sorschia defended halfheartedly. "I don't intend to linger here too long, though. This place gives me the creeps."

"The place or the people?"

"Both, honestly," Sorschia said with a sigh. "At least this is better than roughing it while we wait for Leliana to send more people. I don't fancy the idea of waking up to a bear."

"Fair enough," Varric conceded.

"I'm going to have a look about the ramparts," Solas said suddenly, and slipped out of the room. It only took a few minutes for Sorschia to come up with her own excuse.

"I'm going to restock on some of our provisions," she said quickly, avoiding anymore snark from Varric as she too slipped out.

* * *

It was a moonless night by the time she reached the balcony, but the sky was full of stars. A dark and slender silhouette could be seen leaning over, examining some of the old artifacts that were scattered across the nearby table. Her presence did not seem to startle him in the slightest.

"Inquisitor," he said simply as he raised his eyes for only a moment. "Would you like to discuss something?"

"What are you doing?"

"Examining these relics the cultists found. This one here looks to be of elven origin," he said slowly, tracing his long fingers across the grooves in the metalwork. Sorschia leaned against a wooden post, watching him quietly for a moment, then suddenly chuckled.

"I realize I know next to nothing about you."

"What would you like to know?" He responded as he stood to face her, his hands folded behind his back.

"Well," she paused, realizing she was at a loss. _What do people talk about again?_ She felt strangely vulnerable whenever she was around him, and that vulnerability made her embarrassed, and sometimes angry.

"How about the basics; where are you from?"

"I was born and raised to the north in a small village, of humble origins -"

"Really," Sorschia said with an edge of disbelief. She grinned when her suspicion threw him temporarily off guard. "Personally you don't seem to me as a person from _humble_ anything."

"Indeed? And I assume that coming from such a lordly background as yourself, you have been trained far too well to blindly assume and accuse others before even letting them finish one sentence in your presence."

Sorschia scoffed, a bit stung by his words. "What do you know of my background?!" She asked hotly. "I was never a hedge mage _gallivanting_ across the countryside able to dream where I pleased!"

She advanced on him, cornering him near the back of the balcony. His expression wavered slightly, but he still stood defiant as she continued.

"I was placed in a gilded cage and conditioned to serve and love my oppressors. While you were off _dreaming_ and making friends with the spirits, I was being forced into mental and emotional shackles, rarely allowing myself to sleep because I would _always_ dream and the fear of my own power drew the demons to me. What spirits that were my friends soon became my nightmares. There was nowhere for me to hide."

She paled, recalling the constricting feeling of her own fear coiling in her chest. She felt so close to the fade here that she might slip through while awake; sealing the rift here had done little to stop the already-thinned area of the veil here. If she let fear consume her, she would be dragged in. The demons would take her and possess her and it' would be over.

Suddenly she felt the mark twitch as Solas' face came into view as he leaned over slightly. She could smell him as a cold wind brushed past them; his musk mingled with soft cloth and earth and grasses, ephemeral yet grounded like seeds on the wind. She sighed shakily, suddenly feeling at peace at the sight of him as she let go of her fear, his deep eyes pulling her in.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out as she felt exposed after a moment. "I may've been a circle mage but you're an elf, and an apostate at that," she said ruefully. "I've known many elf mages who have endured horrors that I have never had to endure. I realize your life was probably not a wholly pleasant one."

"Perhaps not, at least not for me in any case," Solas said softly, his expression back to a gentle one as he smiled. She realized how tall he was when he was this close to her. "Nevertheless, you were right to assume not everything about me stems from humility."

"What do you mean?"

"The origin of my name," he began, watching her intensely. "It means Pride."


End file.
